I Have Nothing
by Horcrux7
Summary: Harry fell. Voldemort rules & Death Eaters have free reign over any witch or wizard they can catch and use. Draco, however, finds no pleasure in it until the only woman he's ever loved is unknowingly carried through his front door. "Hermione..."
1. Reunited

**A/N: This is the Alternate Part II to my story "It's Witchcraft", however, it is a story in its own right with the assumption that they fell in love at Hogwarts (and no one knew). Oh, and I didn't create them I just make them fall in love. Enjoy!**

**Reunited**

Draco stared at the mangy heap on his dungeon floor and desperately tried to squelch his shock. Obviously Crabbe and Goyle had no idea that the half-dead woman they'd just given to him was someone they knew…someone they'd spent most of their school days taunting and insulting. He, one the other hand, recognized her despite her haggard and half-dead appearance.

"She's not much, but she's yours if you want her," Crabbe continued with a stupid smile. He had enough _servants_ of his own and he thought it was just awful that Draco didn't have even one. He had a huge lake house to himself but no _servants_ to keep him happy.

But Draco had never taken a fancy to hunting down renegade witches and wizards. Unlike his other Death Eater friends, he didn't have any sick fantasies or perversion that no one else would do willingly. He wasn't gay but married like Zabini, or just unable to get women like Crabbe and Goyle, and he didn't get sick pleasure out of making magical people do remedial tasks without magic. The only woman he ever dreamed about was a pile of skin and bones in front of him. "Sure, I'll take her," Draco agreed impassively.

"Here's her wand," Goyle held out the finely carved wand to him. "You know, good for tormenting or something."

Draco nodded as if he thought it was a great idea. He promptly walked out of the dim dungeon and led his old friends to the front door. "Thanks, guys," he said, nearly pushing them out the door. His breath didn't even out until they had disappeared. It wasn't the first time he was glad that they were so stupid.

Sprinting back down to the ancient dungeon, he burst through the doors and pointed at the chains on the wall. He quickly knelt to catch the crumpling body as the cuffs opened. "Oh, Hermione," he whispered into her ratty hair.

He picked her up; she couldn't weigh more than ninety pounds. Her unconscious head rested on his shoulder and he was greatly relieved to hear her shallow but even breath. She smelt awful; she probably hadn't seen the inside of a proper bathroom for five years.

When he reached the upper most level of his house, he kicked open the door to the large, open room. This room had served as servant's quarters when his great grandparents had used the house as a summer home and brought along their employees as well. These days, he supposed servant's quarters looked quite different.

He didn't plan on this actually being Hermione's room; he just didn't want to get the real one dirty. Besides, she'd have to clean it when she came to anyway.

* * * *

Draco sat by the bed and stared at the mangy creature that was still out cold. He reached out and gently caressed her pale cheek. She looked like death warmed over. He been sitting there for hours, just watching her, hoping she would wake up soon. Besides, the sooner she woke up the sooner she could bath. She desperately needed to do that.

A naughty thought popped into his head. He knew she wasn't going to wake for a while, and she smelt awful. He held his breath as he lifted her into his arms. She was light, too light. He decided to carry her to his own bathroom; with his huge tub, he could actually wash her.

Gently sitting her on one of the seats, he began to pull the dirty remnants of cloths from her body. He didn't even want to think about what would happen if she woke up and saw what he was doing. She'd kill him with her bare hands.

But Draco found that he felt nothing sexual in what he was doing. The strongest emotion he felt was guilt. Every aspect of her body screamed starvation and he could see every one of her ribs as her skin stretched tightly over them. He felt guilty because he knew that it was people like him who had made her this way.

Taking great care to make sure she didn't slip under the water, he washed the dirt and odor from her unconscious body. When he laid her on his shoulder, in order to wash her back, the sight that met his eyes made his heart fall to his stomach. Countless long, red welts crossed her back. They had scared over, but they somehow still looked painful.

Draco quickly finished his ministrations and laid her naked form on a towel on the floor. He'd never really realized how difficult it was to wash, dry and dress some one who was unconscious, but he got it done. When he carried her back to the attic room and put her back onto the bed, he sat in his chair and watched her as he had been; he had nothing else to do. He decided then that he would never tell her what he'd just done for two reasons. The first was that she'd try to decapitate him and the second was simply because it was a nice thing to do, and nice was never supposed to be used to describe a Death Eater.

He didn't know how long he sat there before he drifted off to sleep but the next time he opened his eyes she was staring at him. He nearly fell out of his chair. "Hermione," he breathed and flew to the edge of the bed. "I thought you were dead."

She didn't say a word. Her face showed no emotion and when he reached out to touch her cheek, she quickly turned away. But what broke his heart the most were her eyes. The warm brown eyes that had once burned with love and passion for him were now cold, emotionless…dead. Even when she looked back to him there was no anger or fear, just cold, expressionless eyes.

He curled his hands into fists to keep from touching her again. In all the time he'd been sitting there he hadn't actually thought about how she would react to him. He would have understood anger and fear, but the nothingness he saw in her once expressive orbs was heartbreaking.

Suddenly, he was gripped by an earth-shattering fear that she had been robbed of her soul.

**A/N: Tell me what you think! If you really want something to happen, I have been known to adhere to suggestions!**


	2. Silence

**Silence**

Draco fell to his knees next to the bed and pushed her now clean hair from her cheek, ignoring her previous reaction. "Hermione, what have they done to you?"

Anger flashed in the brown orbs and she infinitesimally narrowed her gaze. Apparently she still had emotions—anger at least. His hand still rested on her cheek and even though she didn't turn away as she had before, her jaw was clenched and her nostrils flared. It was clear she didn't want him to touch her.

"Are you hungry?" he asked, retracting his hand. It was an absurd question, considering that she clearly hadn't eaten a proper meal in months, but he couldn't stand the tense silence that filled the room.

As he should have predicted, she didn't make a sound.

"I'll bring you something," he mumbled anyway and backed out of the room.

He hadn't made it halfway down the first set of stairs when the sob he'd been desperately holding in finally escaped. He fell back onto a step and let the tears freely flow down his cheeks. There had been so many nights that he had stayed awake, wondering if she was dead or if she had been captured by someone else and each scenario his mind had created had been more painful than the next. Yet, never had he imagined that he would get her back like this. It hurt more to have her tense and turn from his touch; a touch she had once reveled in.

In moments like this he didn't care that he was a Malfoy and a Death Eater or that he was supposed to hate her and use her. He had loved her deeper than he had ever loved anyone else; he couldn't imagine living with her hatred again.

But as he finally stood and made his way to his kitchen, a voice in the back of his mind reminded him that he couldn't blame her. It also reminded him that the last words she had ever spoken to him were "I can _never_ forgive you". He hadn't blamed her then either.

* * * *

Hermione heard his sob and a sick part of her heart—a part that had been non-existent five years before—was glad for his pain. She was almost surprised that her hatred for him was still so strong; she had thought herself to be numb to emotions. In this new world, hatred and anger did no good; they only served to hurt whoever was feeling them. And love—love did not exist anymore.

Apparently no one had told Malfoy. Even in her mind she spat the name. He had looked at her as he had when they were sixteen and she hated him all the more for it.

She pulled aside the thick quilt that covered her and slowly swung her legs over the side just as her stomach began to churn. She doubled over and held her stomach with both hands. This was what true starvation felt like. It had been almost four days since she had had a single morsel of food. That was the only reason she was here. No one would have been able to catch her if she was well fed.

From her doubled over position, she surveyed the room. It probably wasn't the best in the house, but it wasn't the dungeon either. Long forgotten propriety told her she should have been grateful for that at least. The room looked like it hadn't been finished. It was all natural wood, the floor, the wall and even the bed were unpainted but the wood was soft. She ran her fingers over the headboard several times before she noticed that her hands were clean.

Morbid curiosity propelled her off the bed and across the room to the solitary mirror on the wall. It had been years since she had seen her reflection and part of her was a little afraid to look. She could easily see the bones in her arms and legs and her ribcage looked like an old Muggle washboard. But she didn't know what her face looked like, how emaciated and gaunt the days and weeks without food had made it. She had never considered herself beautiful by any means, but she could only guess at how bad she looked after everything she had been through the past few years.

All of her tears had long since fallen, she would have sworn it in a Muggle court of law, but when her eyes rested on her reflection they filled with tears anyway. Her cheek bones poked up eerily through her skin, her nose was too boney and the tight skin of her face made her already too prominent teeth stick out even more. Dark, black circles under her eyes completed the macabre portrait that was now her reflection.

Yet, her skin was clean. Not a single speck of dirt soiled her face or neck or chest or…anything. She was clean. She brought her arm to her nose; it smelled of lavender soap. Her hair, previously matted and caked with mud and who knew what else, was now flowing freely down her back. It had clearly been washed and brushed. _The bastard_, she thought, _he took advantage of me when I was unconscious_!

The bitterness that was her constant companion reminded her that she shouldn't have been surprised. He was a Death Eater. It didn't matter that in another life he had professed his love for her, he had thrown it all away the night he had let Death Eaters into Hogwarts. She had begged him not to go through with it, to spare her and what they had. They could have been happy. But he had done it despite her pleas, despite her tears and despite the fact that he knew it would be her end.

If it were possible, her anger grew—exponentially.

* * * *

She looked as if she hadn't moved when Draco came in with a tray of food. He placed it on the small table beside the bed and took his place in the chair next to her. She looked at the food with the same cold gaze then turned to him. Her stomach audibly growled but she didn't make a move to eat; she simply continued to stare at him frigidly.

He couldn't take it for very long. His throat constricted and the backs of his eyes burned. He had to leave before he started crying again. He stood slowly, never taking his eyes from hers, and left the room. Only, he didn't leave. He stepped to the side and slid silently to the floor, letting his new tears fall. To add insult to injury, once he slid to the floor he heard the distinct clatter of silverware on a plate.

He did it everyday. He put robes and nightgowns in the closet so she could wear decent clothes, but he was actually a little surprised when she used one of the gowns. The rags that had apparently once been her clothes had been discarded into a putrid pile in the far corner. He burned them. Like clockwork everyday he delivered her breakfast, lunch and dinner. And everyday he sat outside and cried as he listened to her eat without him.

She slept and ate and after three weeks had passed she was finally starting to look like a normal human being again. The dark circles under her eyes were dimming and her cheekbones weren't as prominent; she was starting to look like herself again. Unfortunately, that just made it harder for him.

Especially since it had been three weeks without a single word.

* * * *

He was eating his own breakfast when he looked up and there she was. He choked on his bite and his heart stopped. He had to cough a few times before he could speak. "Hermione? Do you need something?"

She stared at him, nostrils flared in anger as they always were when he was near her. Then she looked around the room and disappeared into the kitchen as quickly as she had appeared. Only, Draco followed her just as quickly and tears burned at the back of his eyes when he saw her preparing her own breakfast the Muggle way. It didn't take her long, having been raised as a Muggle after all, and Draco just stood there watching dejectedly.

In no time at all, she brushed past him with her breakfast neatly arranged on the tray and went back up the narrow stairwell that led to the servants' quarters. She had lived there for nearly a month and even though she hadn't made a single sound, her actions were screaming at him.

**A/N: Tell me what you think! I love reviews! Thanks to all who reviewed so far and for the great suggestions! If you want something to happen, let me know and it just might!**


	3. Gestures

**Gestures**

Draco was fed up. He wanted to be patient because he knew that anger and frustration toward her would only push her further away…if that were possible. Still, it had been a month and he was tired of it. She fixed her own meals the Muggle way and stayed in the room he had given her the rest of the day.

"The room…" he mumbled to the empty space. "How could I have forgotten?"

He had planned to move her into the room next to his after she recovered. She had clearly recovered. Without another thought, he pushed out of the chair and marched up the stairs. First, he had to make the room a bigger gesture than just a nicer room. The room was decorated in shades of black, green and silver like everything else had ever been in the Malfoy family. A few flicks of his wand turned the walls a deep maroon and the bed a softer shade with gold trim. He added an etching of the Gryffindor crest to the foot board for good measure. The bathroom received the same color treatment before Draco stood in the doorway and surveyed his handy work. Surely it would be to her liking.

As he pulled the door shut something inside his robe poked his side. "Of course!" he exclaimed as he pulled it out. If he was looking for a grand gesture, that was it. After a quick run back into the room, he made his way up another set of stairs.

He wasn't quite sure what Hermione did all day in the small room, but he really hoped it wasn't something she didn't want him to see. He knocked on the door and waited a few seconds before he actually opened it; he knew she wouldn't tell him to enter.

She was curled up in the fetal position on the bed and she barely looked at him when he walked in. Apparently she didn't do anything all day but lie on her bed and cry. He did his best to ignore it or he would cry too.

There wasn't much to move except her and her clothes. He started with the clothes. He had the lot of them suspended in the air when it happened.

"What're you doing?"

His heart skipped a beat and the clothes fell to the floor as he whirled around to her with wide eyes. She was propping herself up on the bed, looking at him with the same cold expression she always did, but her voice was clearly concerned. She probably thought he was taking the clothes away from her.

"You spoke," he whispered.

"I am capable."

"I never doubted your capability, only your willingness."

She stared at him for a few tense seconds and reiterated her question. "What're you doing?"

He shook his head to bring himself back to reality. He had waited so long to hear her voice again and those few words were not nearly enough. "I'm moving you. I never intended for you to stay in this room."

He retrieved the clothes from the floor and headed to the door.

"I should have known you'd put me in the dungeon eventually," she whispered.

This wasn't going at all like he had planned. He hadn't exactly expected her to fall at his feet, he wasn't that diluted, but he didn't realize that she would take everything so wrong. She'd been so levelheaded at sixteen.

It was going to take him a while to realize just how much she had been through since then.

"If I were putting you in the dungeon," he said softly. "Would I carry your clothes for you?"

She fell back onto the bed without another word. It didn't matter how much she had been through, she still couldn't compete with logic.

Draco put the clothes in the enormous walk-in closet slowly, hoping against hope that she had at least been a little curious and followed him. No such luck. He sighed as he left the room; he'd have to move her too and something told him it wasn't going to be easy.

She hadn't moved when he returned for her. She had to know what was coming. He stood in the doorway for some moments, watching and hoping she would move of her own volition, but she didn't move a muscle. "It's really not the dungeon," he whispered softly.

Her eyes finally looked over at him. Deep down in a long forgotten part of her soul, she knew that he would never put her in the dungeon. Consciously, however, her hatred for him kept her from admitting this. Still, he could do whatever he wanted to her and there was no one around to stop him and no law to make him think twice.

"I can always carry you." It wasn't a threat, but he would do it.

This got her out of the bed. She didn't trust herself enough to let him carry her; it would be much too easy to strangle the life out of him. So she crossed her arms and followed him down to floor below. He made a big to do about opening the door and stood aside so she could enter.

She walked in slowly, her arms still crossed. It was beautiful; it was more than she could have ever asked for, especially with her station. Yet, she refused to be touched because she knew very well that the changes to the room could have been made with a few flicks of a wand. Besides, she was pretty sure that the door in the corner led straight into his room.

Her eyes roamed over him. He was trying to hide his emotions but he was clearly hopeful. It only made her anger grow. She didn't know exactly what he had done to her while she had been unconscious, but she had awakened in a very different state than she had arrived and that was enough for her embittered mind.

Then she spotted it. Its light color stood out on the dark quilt on the bed and her heart skipped a beat when she understood what it meant. A room decorated in her colors was nothing compared to this. She picked it up, curling her fingers around it slowly, and feeling the familiar magic she had feared was gone. "You're really giving it back?" she whispered without turning around.

He leaned against the doorway and watched her. "You're a witch, Hermione; I have no right to rob you of that."

Her eyes closed slowly. Sometimes he did make it difficult to be angry. At least, until she remembered that he had only done it to get on her good side in the first place. Then the anger returned.

He was spared her verbal lashing when the doorbell sounded throughout the house. He sighed and turned to leave before he swung back around and looked at her seriously. "Stay here," he said firmly and closed the door gently behind him.

She rolled her eyes and waited a few seconds before she silently followed him, her wand grasped with white knuckles. She crept down the stars and stood on the bottom step, just out of sight from the front door.

"Goyle, hello."

She could hear the nerves in his voice. It obvious, to her anyway, that he was hiding something. She could also tell that he hadn't stepped aside so Goyle could enter.

"Fancy a hunt, Malfoy? Crabbe and I spotted a traitor with the witch when we caught her and I'm gonna go after him. Had any fun with her yet?" he asked, wagging his eyebrows.

"Uh, actually she didn't survive. She didn't wake up for a week so I just took care of her. Starved, I'd imagine."

Hermione's heart sped up. He'd just told the only people who knew she was there that she was dead. What was he planning on doing to her?

"Eh, wasn't much anyway, was she?"

"No," he agreed tersely.

"Hunting, then?"

"No, don't really feel like it today. Cheers though."

"Alright, don't know what you're missing though. It's great fun."

Draco cleared his throat. "I'm sure, another time perhaps".

"Suit yourself."

The door closed without another word and she heard Draco sigh heavily. She waited only a few seconds before she turned and crept back up the stairs, her heart pounding in her ears even after she was safely in the room with the door closed. She would have to be careful around him from now on; apparently there was still more to him than met the eye.


	4. Death Threat

**Death Threat**

Hermione's entire body tensed when Draco came back into the bedroom. She was sitting on the bed waiting for him, trying with all that was in her to look as though she hadn't followed him down the stairs and heard what he'd said. It was all some queer ruse. He was doing favors for her but all the while he was planning to get rid of her. It didn't even make any sense. Why didn't he just hand her over to Voldemort so he could win back favour with him?

She tightened her grip on her wand as he approached her. She wasn't going down without a fight. But at the same time, she didn't want to rush him into an attack. If she knew him at all, he would try while she was asleep. That's when he did his best work apparently. Merlin knows why he didn't just do away with her when she had still been unconscious.

"Do you like it?" he asked nervously.

The first thing that came to her mind was a snide remark but she stopped herself. The man was clearly unstable and she didn't want to test his limits. She just stared at him.

Something was off about her, Draco could tell. He just couldn't tell what. She constantly went back and forth between seeming completely cold and emotionless to staring at him with the most intense hatred he had ever seen. At that moment though, she was staring at him but her eyes kept moving in a strange, almost frantic pattern. It looked as though she were sizing him up for battle. It was eerie. In his periphery he saw her hand and the white-knuckled grip she had on her wand. He hoped it was just the remaining fear that he would take it from her again.

"Will you at least stay here?" he tried again when the silence had reached uncomfortable.

"Yes," she agreed far too quickly.

His eyes narrowed. What had happened while he'd been downstairs? What kind of change could have occurred in five minutes? "Are you hungry?" he asked, even though he knew full well that she would make her own food if she were. She never ate with him anyway.

Maybe he would try to poison her, she thought. That was the coward's way after all; it wasn't direct. Good thing she had been making her own food. "I can make us lunch," she offered. She wanted to get on his good side after all. Maybe if he found her useful he would think twice about killing her. It had worked for her before. She hopped off of the bed, wand still in hand and walked toward him. "What do you want?"

Something was definitely wrong. She was talking and offering to make lunch for both of them…it was strange. "I can make us—"

"I can do it," she interrupted quickly and sped out of the room.

Draco felt his brain had been stupefied as he stared at the empty doorway. "What just happened?" he mumbled to the empty room. He shook his head and followed her down to the kitchen. She was moving around, quickly levitating things through the air. There were two knives buttering slices of bread next to the stove and she was slicing a block of cheese by hand. It was oddly mesmerizing to watch her. "What are you making?"

She jumped, tensed and froze at the sound of his voice; even the knives stopped moving and just hung in the air. "Grilled Cheese."

"What's that?"

He watched her shoulders rise and fall as she inhaled deeply. "It's a cheese sandwich that's grilled."

Sounded delicious, he thought, but he still wanted to know what had gotten in to her. As of that morning she hadn't spoken a single word to him and now she was making lunch for him. He wouldn't have complained…if the change hadn't happened in five minutes. And if she didn't have a slightly schizophrenic look her eyes…

She went back to her work.

She ate every meal with him after that in an awkward, tense silence that made him loose his appetite most days. Her eyes always had that wide, scared, crazed look and she tensed every time he entered a room. It was almost worse than the silence and avoidance. He couldn't sleep very well… he swore he could hear pacing across the hall.

He wasn't wrong. Every night Hermione lay on her back in the most comfortable bed she had ever been in and stared at the maroon canopy. She couldn't sleep. She couldn't risk him catching her off guard and finishing her while she was vulnerable. Whenever she did start to doze off, any like creak or noise would have her eyes frantically searching the darkness and she would reach for her wand and sweep the room. After a few nights of that she took to pacing the perimeter of the room and keeping close watch on the door.

She knew she was going crazy. There was nothing keeping her there; as far as she knew he hadn't bound her to the house without her knowledge. She could open the window and sneak out whenever she wanted and be free of the constant fear that he would turn on her at any moment. Only, the moment she did that every other fear that she had been freed of in that house would come back. The fear of someone else catching her, starving to death, freezing to death, or dying in any other way that happened when you never had a place to stay…they all came back the moment she left.

Here she couldn't sleep anymore than she had out there, but she had a roof over head and three meals a day and snacks even if she wanted them. She had books too…it had been so long since she had gotten to read a book. So she settled for no sleep and maniacal pacing. It was the better of two evils.

Draco noticed the change in her body. She had been gaining weight since she'd arrived, but she started to look unhealthy again. Her weight was fine but her skin began to look pasty and dark circles appeared under her eyes than seemed to get worse with everyday. Then she started not noticing when he entered a room. Where at once she tensed, he could now get within inches of her without her even noticing and she was always staring off into space.

She looked like she hadn't slept in weeks.

He walked in the kitchen on a Monday morning. It was early, the sun had just come up, but she was already standing at the counter, food spread out in front of her. But she wasn't moving.

"Hermione?" he whispered after staring at her stationary form for a minute.

Her shoulders tensed and he saw her fingers curl around the handle of a large knife in an eerie, slow motion, one finger at a time. For the first time in a long time, he felt his heart skip in fear. She'd been acting strange since Goyle had come over and in all honesty he didn't know what she was capable of.

"Hermione," he whispered again, nervously.

She turned on him slowly, knife in hand. Her eyes held that crazed yet cold look of determination and she held the knife in a clear attack position. The dark circles combined with her slightly bent position completed that terrifying look. He was afraid of her.

She took a step and he reached for his wand, immediately pointing it at her chest.

"What're you gonna do, Draco?" she practically hissed and took another step. "Are you finally gonna kill me?

Finally? What had gotten into her? More importantly, what had happened to her to make her this way? He held his ground as she took another menacing step toward him. He didn't want to hurt her, but she would hurt him or even kill him with that look in her eyes. "Take one more step and I'll do it, I swear."

Her eyes became eerily placid as she took another step across the kitchen floor. "Go ahead, kill me," she challenged calmly. "My body can catch up with my soul."

Sadness ripped through Draco's heart and he lowered his wand and just stared at her.

Then she broke. "Do it," she yelled desperately, "Just do it already! I can't take this anymore! If you ever felt anything for me, please just do it and get it over with!"

"I-I-I can't," he stammered in astonishment.

She dropped the knife and rushed toward him, grabbing his wrist and re-aiming his wand. "Just say it!" she demanded through tears and gritted teeth.

"You really want to die?" he managed through his constricted throat, not to mention her painful grip on his wrist. "Why?"

"Why?" she shrieked madly. "I don't feel anything anymore! I can't remember what it feels like to smile or laugh or-or hope! I only feel anger and hate." She dropped his wrist and covered her face with her hands as she began to sob. "I don't want to…"

Without a second thought, Draco pulled her to him like he had always done so many years ago. She fought him fiercely and shrieked her protests but he held onto her firmly until she finally collapsed against him. "I don't want to but I can't help it," she whispered hoarsely. "And it's never going to change. There is no hope for me. You once told me you loved me and even you want to kill me."

He immediately pulled her back and looked into her eyes, hoping she could see the honesty in them. "I do not want to kill you."

This seemed to calm her. "You told Goyle I was dead," she argued.

He nodded. "And if he ever by some miracle realizes who you are, he will tell every one that you're dead."

He felt her body relax more as understanding sparked in her eyes. "Then they'll stop hunting me."

"That's the idea," he said. "I want to help you, Hermione. That's all I've ever wanted."

Her eyes seemed to soften for a moment. "What did you do to me before I woke up?"

His eyes narrowed. That was months ago. "When you first arrived?"

"Yes," she confirmed and not without accusation. "I know I was filthy and putrid, but I woke up clean."

His eyes closed slowly. He'd been insane to think she wouldn't notice that she was clean. "I cleaned you up," he admitted quickly with his eyes closed. "And yes, you were naked but I didn't know what kinds of diseases you could have on you and I didn't want you to just lie there in your own filth until you woke up. So you can slap me or make me belch slugs or something."

Her body relaxed completely under his touch. "It's okay," she said, blinking at him in confusion. "Thank you."


End file.
